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“Father forgive me for I have sinned.”
The Reaper wondered if this was the first time the priest, Father Lamont, ever had Death personified in his confessional. Probably, but given how little light seeped from one part of the confessional to the other, he might not have noticed.
“It’s been two weeks since my last confession.” A long time, but these were busy days. And most of the recent activities would not be endorsed by the Catholic Church. “Father, I have taken a life. And more deaths are in my future.”
Father Lamont began talking, but the Reaper didn’t hear most of it, too torn up inside to listen. The Church would not approve of murder or other criminal deeds. But the priest would eventually offer a homework assignment—some Hail Marys and a rosary, whatever—and then forgive all the sins. Which was the only reason to make this stop.
“I am glad you seek forgiveness,” Father Lamont said. “But I cannot grant absolution while you hold evil in your heart. Are you planning to kill again?”
Tough question. Especially after that run-in with Pike. The Reaper spent the rest of the day observing Pike’s office from a discreet distance, watched the police investigate and organize. They lined up single file, ready to scour the beach, the park, every street and alleyway in the area. Someone was pulling out all the stops—
The Reaper took a cleansing breath, then released it.
What difference would it make? Once the streets of St. Petersburg calmed a bit, he was heading west.
There was more work to be done.
Props to SPPD for trying. The target in Indianapolis had been dead for days, and as far as anyone could tell, no one had even noticed. That job had been a piece of cake. But the lawyer woman in the tight jeans knew how to fight. Not that it helped her much, ultimately.
There was much to be done and no time for this indulgent church visit. But the Reaper felt torn apart from the inside. Didn’t everyone hate what was happening to this country? Shouldn’t everyone be trying to do something about it? Didn’t everyone seek peace?
And that could only come from one source.
“Father, I know I have committed evil deeds. But I did so for a reason.”
“The ends cannot justify the means. That is not how God works.”
“God doesn’t have family. He doesn’t have to deal with mortgages and health insurance and—”
“We all have secular commitments and temporal lives. They cannot override the will of God.”
“But Father—look what’s happening to this world.”
The Reaper blamed the media. They always favored liberal causes. If a white guy had been murdered and chopped into pieces, it probably wouldn’t get a footnote on page fourteen. But if something happened to a wealthy female Hispanic lawyer with connections to city government—that was a completely different story. Every day, this nation seemed less and less like America. They had to do something to take this nation back before it was too late.
And it had to start somewhere, right? Granted, this costume wasn’t red, white, and blue, but it was appropriate for the task at hand.
Maybe life hadn’t been all it could be. Whose fault was that? Every upward path was blocked by rules and regulations, artificial qualifications, quotas, tests and trials and prohibitions. It was not a level playing field. Why was there no affirmative action for real Americans? There’d been too much emphasis on outsiders, foreign nations, global problems. It was time America started taking care of its own.
“Let God worry about the world,” Father Lamont advised. “You must save your soul. Make no mistake—God still has plans for you.”
“People always say that, but I never received my marching orders. Or any help paying the bills.”
“God helps those who help themselves.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“If you’re sinning, that is not what you’re doing. You’re indulging your basest instincts and rationalizing evil deeds.”
“Father, I’m just trying to survive.”
“I know the road before us often seems insurmountable. But God takes care of his own.”
Sounded good in theory. Where was the evidence? And since there was no evidence, why come? It seemed that no matter what, the Reaper still wanted to believe it was possible to be right with God, the Twitch Upon the Thread that could never be completely severed.
The media reports were all the same. Blood found in the office. No trace of the woman. Strong hints that Pike was Suspect No. 1. APBs issued. Televised pleas for assistance. Every available officer on the case.
Even the mayor appeared, making a personal plea for help. Apparently she and Maria Morales knew each other. Nice that she would speak up for her friend. Women often were their own worst enemies, judging and criticizing and backstabbing.
The DA also made a pitch, and of course, that was another woman, also claiming to be a personal friend. Did Morales know everyone in town? The DA said she was working closely with the police and they would do everything imaginable to learn what happened.
The standard claptrap. I am woman, hear me roar.
But when asked if Pike was a suspect, she dodged the question.
“I’m going to be traveling soon, Father. May I have your blessing?”
“May God bless your travel and keep you safe.” He paused. “But that blessing will not forgive intentional evil deeds. You know the law. Thou shalt not kill.”
The priest’s words like a knife to the heart. Why would anyone be willing to take...such extreme actions? This country had gone very wrong and someone had to take a stand before it was too late. God instructed the ancient Israelites to seize Canaan and kill the inhabitants after they lost their way. How was this any different?
The Reaper was God’s Angel of Death. So he dressed accordingly.
Father Lamont mumbled a few more words. Took the blessing and the priest’s instructions and rushed out the door. Much work to do.
All the key players had appeared in the media reports—except one. Pike himself. Of all the players in this scenario, he was best positioned to screw things up. And if that happened, immediate action would be required. There was too much at stake.
Jesus would just have to understand. The needs of the many...
And after so many deaths, what possible difference could a few more make?